


Three Kisses

by misreall



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)
Genre: Blood, Boys Kissing, Chaste Kissing, Disabled Character, F/M, Gambling, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, M/M, Rough Kissing, card playing, obligations, sweet kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/pseuds/misreall
Summary: Dangertoozmanykids101 issued this challenge a few days ago - “ My challenge is a study in kissing. Choose an adverb or adjective as the title to describe a kiss that maybe you've never WRITTEN or DRAWN before. “Because I am greedy I decided to do three, choosing the prompts Chaste, Obligated, and Bloody, featuring characters from some of my fics.
Relationships: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Male Character, Thomas Sharpe/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 48





	Three Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dangertoozmanykids101 (Toozmanykids)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toozmanykids/gifts).



Chaste : Starring Adam and Kay from the series Tales from the Bookstore Basement

That she had gotten Adam to agree to come to Earl and Solange’s anniversary party with her was probably going to count as her greatest accomplishment of that month. 

Looking at the forbidding scowl on his face as they stood on the edge of the outdoor dance floor of the Lake Terrace, Kay mentally corrected that to her greatest accomplishment of the  _ summer _ . 

But he’d done it. 

He’d even crawled into his most gigantic, standing closet - a grand, splendid Victorian monster that had probably once opened onto to Narnia, but knowing Adam he had probably sealed over that door with lead, since the only thing he hated more than whimsy was Christianity - and found a suit that she had taken to the dry cleaner for him, as doing it himself would have been one stressor too many for an already irritable vampire. Also, she didn't mind since they gave Kay a frequent customer discount. As well as sending her a birthday card every year. It was possible she had put one of the Lan family's children through college on her sweater collection alone. 

Kay’s vintage senses tingled at the sight of it.

It was Italian, from the 60s, very slim cut, dyed a blue so deep it was practically black, and would still have a perfect fit since Adam’s body hadn’t changed since the English Civil War. 

When he’d finished dressing, letting her knot his tie since had never bothered to learn how. “These things are idiotic,” Adam flapped the end of the slate grey silk that she had bought him. “I cannot fucking believe that of all of the clothing that men no longer wear this archaic bullshit is still around.”

“Ties are sexy. You look-” Kay had stepped back, one of her hands pressed to the chest of her little black dress. 

There were no words. 

Adam snorted, “I can smell what I must look like.” He closed the space between them, crowding her, “Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here?” He leaned down, tracing his proud nose and thin lips up her neck, then whispered, “I’ll leave the suit on and you can do  _ anything _ to me that you can think of…”

With great fortitude, Kay pushed him away and went to fetch her purse and their gift - a hand-embroidered bible cover from late 17th century Brittany, “We are going to do that anyway, afterward.”

Now, the party almost over, Adam had loosened the tie and unbuttoned his top button. His mane had worked its way back to feral, but there was the idea of a smile on his face. The band that was winding down, and he’d said he hadn’t hated them. Watching him from where she stood, talking to Earl and Solange, it was hard not to sigh. 

“We can go now, if you want,” Kay said, rejoining him while finishing her second and last glass of champagne. “I am so proud of you. You were almost polite to most of the people here, and the only person you scared all night was Bianca. But she was already scared of you so I don’t think that counts against you. I even already said our goodbyes, so you don’t have to talk to anyone else tonight.”

“In a second,” he said, taking her glass and purse and setting them down, sliding an arm around her waist. “We should dance.”

Too stunned to stop him, Kay, who had never learned to dance, let Adam gently twirl her onto the all but deserted dance floor, under the brilliant, low moon and the swaying strands of antique lights. He pulled her back against him, turning them in a slow circle, his soft guidance teaching her the steps as they went, to the sound of “Get Out, Get Under the Moon.”

Dancing had been Eve’s favorite thing in all of her ancient life. It was sacred to her, and to her and Adam. In their time together he had only ever danced with Kay once, breaking down halfway through, unable to go on.

Now he smiled at the shock on her face. “You are lovely. Do you know that? Pretty, certainly, but lovely, utterly.” 

Then, tenderly lifting her chin with the side of his finger, he kissed her.

Adam had kissed Kay so many times and places, as well as  _ places _ . They both loved kissing. Entire hours would go by with them kissing, her on his lap. It could be dangerous, such as when he would forget that she needed to breathe, or when his fangs would descend as his appetites grew confused, but it was always intense. 

Pretty much everything about Adam was intense.

There should have been nothing especially remarkable about this chaste little kiss. 

His mouth was closed, but soft, so his lips and hers parted very slightly at that tender pressure. With a flutter her eyes closed and Kay felt the subtle, nearly undetectable vibration that strummed through his body in place of breath and pulse and thrilled her nerves with just a little fear, for her body knew he was a predator, even if he was kissing her like they were in a fairy tale. 

He kissed her and she lifted herself on curling toes, but he would kiss her no harder than that mellow brush of his mouth. Breathless from it, Kay had pulled away, pressing her forehead to his chest, trying to compose herself

Then, kissing the top her head, Adam growled, “No, let’s go home and put this torture device to some better use,” grabbing one end of his tie to yank it off with a loud hiss of silk on silk. 

Obligated : Nora and Incubus Loki, Maura and Thomas from the series Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it

“You bloody well know you cheated,” Thomas growled at his wife and her cousin, who sat shoulder to shoulder on the other side of the kitchen table.

They looked at each other, then back and him, shrugging.

Maura rolled her eyes as she shrugged, while Nora met his angry gaze while smirking. Otherwise, the gesture was identical. 

Loki threw his cards down, snorting. “Of course they did.”

Nora leaned on the tabletop, her chin propped in her palm, “If we cheated, and neither of you old men can figure out how we did it, that just means we beat you twice. The oldest wizard in Britain and an ancient and dishonorable demon losing at bridge to a couple of mere, baby witches. It’s gotta be embarrassing? Right, coz?” She never looked away.

“Right,” Maura answered, knowing that her Sir would probably spank her arse bright red for this. She was fine with that. It would be worth it.

“Annnnddd you both agreed to the bet, so unless you're a welcher, Mr. Wizard, I suggest you get on with the forfeit.”

Thomas sagged back in on the cheap, old kitchen chair, which creaked ominously under him. “Why aren’t you objecting?” he snarled at Loki.

It was summer and the kitchen door to Nora’s beaten up bungalow was open onto her little herb garden. Outside were the sounds of a Chicago summer night. She could hear kids playing basketball in the alley, shouting at each other in Mexican Spanish, a car, rattling with heavy base from crappy speakers, thundered down her street, and a  _ paletero _ ’s bell could be heard getting closer.

The incubus gave an unfriendly grin to the wizard. “Several reasons. Partly because our kissing is going to be  _ such  _ a bother to you. It’s going to plague you for decades which means a lovely, random snack for me  _ every  _ time you recall this moment and grind your teeth over the memory.” 

With a loose wave of his hand, Loki continued as he slid his chair closer to Thomas’s, “Partly because I am  _ enchanted _ that  _ my  _ pretty treasure and  _ your  _ delightful spouse are so clever. Which I suppose makes  _ me _ the bigger man. And I am, technically speaking, not even a man, so please keep  _ that _ in mind. Mostly because I want to get this over with before the ice cream man is gone.” He leaned very close to Thomas’s face, his massive, curved horns glinting razor-sharp under the ceiling light, “Daddy wants a _ pepino con chile _ .”

His voice was low and husky, and even though his pheromones hadn’t kicked in Nora felt herself go hot all over. Thomas, though he would have denied it under the most extreme and creative of tortures, got just a little, tiny bit hard, and even Maura, who Loki had given immunity from his powers as a friendship gift, found herself fanning her face with a take out menu from Portillo’s.

Then his black feathered wings snapped fully out, effectively blocking their women from getting a proper look, “But that doesn’t make me any less of a sore loser.”

As Nora shouted annoyance, climbing onto her chair to look over the top of her lover’s wing, with Maura joining her, and nearly falling to her death from the height of her heels, Loki grabbed Thomas impeccably Windsor’d tie and yanked him onto his mouth.

Hard.

If Thomas had had his druthers it would have been a perfunctory thing. A bare touch of pursed lips. Not because he had anything against kissing another male. He’d done it before plenty of times, and more besides, and if he were not deeply committed to Maura and planning on being with her for the rest of his life, it would probably have happened again. 

He simply objected to Loki.

Generally. 

The kissing only served to make him objectionable at a much closer proximity. 

Loki felt much the same about Thomas. With the additional caveat that he was certain that the stick up the wizard’s ass was most certainly of the wrong size and shape, otherwise he would not be so  _ testy _ all of the time. 

But a sex demon was a sex demon. There was professional pride at stake. 

Caught off guard, his mouth partly open, Thomas found himself invaded, taken, straddling the border between the kingdoms of Ravishment and Capitulation. Despite his best efforts at indifference he clutched Loki’s shoulders, a juddering moan escaping him as he readied himself to give back as good as he got. Or as close as could be managed given that he was kissing the first sex demon in creation and a fallen angel to boot. 

Loki was not precisely astounded that Thomas was a proficient and creative kisser, but he was pleasantly surprised that he had decided to go for it, rather than sit there like a dying grouper and take it.

It was war. With tongues and teeth and long experience as weapons. 

Loki won, as was a foregone conclusion, though his breath was not perfectly steady when they finally broke apart, which Thomas took as victory enough.

That and the deeply flustered, flabbergasted looks on the faces of Maura and Nora. 

Standing up, straightening his tie and his cock - since at that point there was no possible way to hide the state he was in, he wrapped his hands around his wife’s hips and lifted her down from the table. “Hotel, now!” he ordered her, and without a word of goodbye they were out the door, headed to their rental car.

Loki smiled up at Nora, who looked incapable of speech, “ _ Paleta _ , treasure? I think it’s the fellow who has the cocoa one you like.”

Bloody - Sir Thomas and Lady Alice Sharpe from Perfection

Turning too quickly from the window where she waved for Thomas and their daughters to come join her in her studio for the cocoa that their housekeeper Mrs. Emerson had brought down from the main house, Alice felt her toe snag upon the fringe of the faded Persian carpet and knew she was about to fall and there was nothing she could do. 

Her flailing sprawl knocked over her box of charcoals, a newish sketchbook, and a small table which held a Greek, earthenware vase full of retroflexa and parrot tulips, which thankfully did not smash to pieces as it was a remembrance from their honeymoon and quite irreplaceable to her. 

Over the course of her life, the nagging infirmity of her twisted leg had caused Alice to fall often, though far less so in the years since Thomas had created the improved brace that she currently wore. Alas, so reliable and relatively comfortable was it that she now, from time to time, would leave her cane out of hand’s reach, as was the case now.

To her good fortune, the Morris chair that she had placed to catch the afternoon light when she sketched was close at hand, allowing her to halt much of her momentum and to turn in such a way that would spare her unfortunate limb the brunt of the fall. Indeed, relative to many of the tumbles she had taken, Alice knew she had gotten off light, the hard bite she had given her lower lip far worse than anything else, causing a very small amount of blood to trickle down her chin.

Whilst she fell, there was a decided crash from the direction of her housekeeper.

There went the cocoa, Alice thought sadly, from her half-seated, mostly disjointed, place upon the floor.

“Oh, Madame!” Mrs. Emerson cried out, looking from Alice to the mess of china and chocolate at her feet, not certain if the rug or her employer was in greater need of her assistance.

It was into all of  _ that _ that Thomas came, taking off the rather out of date Roma style hat he liked to wear when playing in the garden with the girls, his shirt sleeves rolled up and quite shockingly stained with grass. Sturdy, black-haired Wilhelmina perched on his strong, left arm, her tiny arms about his neck, whilst Lucy, who took more after Alice’s coloring but thankfully looked to have her father’s beauty, tugged on his free hand, trying to rush them in for the treat that they had been promised.

Both of the girl’s pinafores were also in need of laundering as well. It had been a rather muddy spring.

Lucy stopped, her eyes wide, taking in a scene of household chaos that for once she had no role in creating. 

Finding her mother in the midst of it, she freed her hand and pointed towards Alice, shouting in distress, “Papa! Mama is bleeding! She’s dripping in blood!”

Lucy had a desire for drama that no amount of little discussions and stern talks had managed to curtail. Alice was certain that her daughter was destined for the stage, though how the stage might feel about that was uncertain at best.

Wilhelmina, not certain what was going on but not liking to be left out, started screaming and crying.

Thomas’s face was white and terrified for a moment, but then their eyes met. Alice smiled ruefully at her handsome husband and gave the slightest nod. Relief flooded his blue eyes.

Grinning widely, he laughed, knowing that offering any countenance to Lucy’s theatrics would only cause her to raise them to greater heights. “Now, now! You make it sound as if we have walked into some manner of grue filled, penny dreadful! Not a jolly, sunlit room in the deep wilds of Wisconsin.” His elegant accent was quite out of place in the Middle West, no matter how many grass stains he might acquire.

He kissed Willie’s cheek, tickling her so she giggled whilst being handed to Mrs. Emerson with a look of warning that quelled  _ her _ vapours before they started, as well as causing a pretty blush to come to her cheek.

Thomas still had an effortless way with the female sex.

“Now then, Lady Sharpe, what nonsense is this?” He walked to Alice to help her to her feet, standing so he might block the view of her wince of pain. Resting a comforting and supporting hand on her hip, he aided across the room and in her way easing down onto the daybed that took up much of the far wall. The blue and white striped mattress was old and sprung, but quite comforting.

Sitting at her side, he looked closely at her mouth, all the while keeping up prattle for the girls, “Now, Lucy, you stay over there by Mrs. Emerson and Willie. No need to go tromping through the broken crockery. Why, look at this!”

He tenderly cupped Alice’s face, swiping his thumb across her swollen, rather painful bottom lip. “Blood? It looks as if your mother has been eating cherries without us, girl.” 

“It’s blood,” Lucy insisted with crossed arms and a firm huff.

Thomas looked at Alice’s mouth and then into her eyes. 

She saw the devil in the blue depths of his.

“Nonsense,” he said, “I shall prove it.”

Thomas licked his thumb, and then kissed Alice, whilst the two girls gave squeals of horror and Mrs. Emerson made noises of embarrassment. 

Alice could taste the copper of her own blood on Thomas’s lips and then his tongue, which teased along her’s. The cutting slash of pain when his mouth pressed to her wounded one set her body on alert, and starting the almost stopped bleeding to begin again.

The salt and the pain made the hot, luxuriance of the remainder of the too-brief kiss sweeter by far. 

“Yes,” Thomas’s voice was normal, but his eyes were avid and hungry, as he called to the girls, “as I suspected. Cherries, bursting ones. Bad girl, Alice…” he purred the last words into her ear. 

“Mrs. Emerson, why don’t you take our poor urchins back to the main house? Feed them all manner of food that will spoil their dinners shockingly and I shall stay to help Lady Sharpe set things in order. Will that do,  _ ma mie _ ?” he asked Alice.

“Yes…” she answered. “We may be some time, so if you would be so good as to see to their baths as well?” Alice asked, also not looking away from Thomas.

Whilst normally Willie hated to be parted from Alice unless it was by Thomas, and Lucy was loath to leave the sight of so much intriguing mess, especially when a bath was threatened, the promise of cake or perhaps even pie was too much for them and they let themselves be herded easily from the little studio.

As the door clicked closed behind them, Thomas leaned in, whispering, “I think I am deserving of a treat as well,” before nipping her poor, wounded lip, so she had to pull him very close so she might defend herself.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
